


Of Pop Tarts And Elephants

by templeg



Series: McPriceley 'verse [1]
Category: The Book of Mormon - Parker/Stone/Lopez
Genre: Awkward Flirting, Board Games, First Kiss, Fluff, M/M, Pop Tarts Utilised In A Flirtatious Manner
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-12
Updated: 2013-11-12
Packaged: 2018-01-01 08:21:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1042533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/templeg/pseuds/templeg
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which there is a completely reasonable, heterosexual explanation for why Kevin can't stop thinking about Elder McKinley. Also, the Game of Life is played.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Pop Tarts And Elephants

When Kevin was eight, a boy at school grabbed him by both shoulders and said: ‘Whatever you do, don’t think of elephants _.’_

Most kids would have tried it for thirty seconds, failed and forgotten all about it- and probably not have thought of elephants for the rest of the day, simply by virtue of apathy. Kevin worked himself to a state of near-tears, elephants marching tauntingly around his head, because gosh _darn_ it he was _Kevin Price_ and he got straight A’s and there was _nothing he couldn’t do_.

This was a lot like that.

Elder McKinley was trying to be helpful, he knew that. But he wasn’t having gay thoughts, had never had a gay thought in his life, except just sort of hypothetically, and then McKinley had shown up and told him to just turn it off and somehow that had turned it _on._

Okay, that was a poor choice of words.

Kevin stares at the ceiling and carefully re-adjusts the usually much more baggy crotch of his Mormon underwear. It’s just like the elephants, that’s all it is. Except instead of elephants, it’s McKinley, who is much more attractive than an elephant.

Stupid McKinley and his stupid gay thoughts. Kevin closes his eyes, and finds himself surrounded by a sea of little cardboard boxes. One of them is pink. And sparkly.

 _Huh_ , Kevin thinks, in a distant, dream way. The box is at his feet. He lifts a foot above it, ready to bring it down, but instead he finds it opening.

Elder McKinley is in the box. He’s wearing a pink waistcoat, and he rises out of the box like a girl out of a cake, except as far as Kevin knows girls who come out of cakes don’t usually tapdance. McKinley smiles and steps out of the box, and it’s at this point Kevin realises that he’s wearing nothing _but_ the waistcoat.

Kevin wakes in a sweaty, tangled mess of sheets and Mormon underwear. He’s kicked the blanket down around his legs, and when he glances down he gives a horrified squawk and tugs it up over his crotch.

Honestly, he thinks, trying to will the problem out of existence with thoughts of cold showers, elephants would be a relief right about now.

 

*****

Kevin slouches into breakfast the next morning on the back of about an hour and a half of uncomfortable, restless sleep. McKinley takes one look at him- sweaty and pale, with dark circles under his eyes- and smiles sympathetically. Something warm curls in Kevin’s stomach. Probably the nausea.

‘Hell dream?’

‘Uh...’ The dreams had gotten steadily more inappropriate- and disturbing, completely disturbing and that was _all_ \- as the night wound on, but he’s not sure they could technically be counted as hell dreams when the only other person in them had been McKinley. He scarfs down several mouthfuls of cereal to avoid having to tell what might technically be a lie. McKinley looks concerned.

‘Are you feeling okay, Elder Price?’ He puts a hand on Kevin’s shoulder. Kevin can feel the warmth of his palm through his shirt. ‘It’s probably the climate; it takes some getting used to. I barely slept at all my first week here.’ He lowers his voice conspiratorially. ‘If I hadn’t had someone in the bed right next to me, I probably would have slept nude.’

Kevin’s cereal spoon connects sharply with his teeth, spraying him with milk and cereal. McKinley’s eyes widen. ‘Oh em gosh, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean- here, let me-’ He grabs a handful of paper towels, dabbing at Kevin’s chest. Kevin looks down and notices at the same time as McKinley that there’s milk on his crotch, too. Their eyes meet.

‘ _I’lljustgochange_ ’, he stammers, and bolts.

 

*****

 

 

He’s never particularly liked the Game of Life. Kevin likes board games where it’s obvious from the get-go that he is winning, crushing everyone else’s capitalist dreams by the sheer power of his awesomeness. The Game of Life has too much _experiencing_ and pretending to be invested in tiny pink-and-blue pegs and you don’t find out til the very end how much money you have, which just seems ridiculous. Who goes through life not knowing how much money you have? Why is he wasting his whole fictitious life going on country walks and visiting his in-laws and not once _counting his piles of money?_

But Elder McKinley shook the box and pouted until everyone caved and now he, Kevin, Elder Cunningham and Elder Thomas are sat in a circle, using Monopoly pieces because all the cars are missing. Elder McKinley, naturally, has the top hat. Kevin’s only consolation in this tedium is that he got the racecar.

He hits the giant red _STOP- GET MARRIED_ square and resists the urge to roll his eyes. McKinley coos, even though getting married is mandatory and everyone else has already passed it (what kind of hellish dystopia mandates marriage immediately after leaving college? Not even the Church does that.) ‘Congratulations, Elder. Who’s the lucky girl?’

Kevin’s face heats up. ‘Uh…’ Cunningham hums the wedding march under his breath and Kevin entertains a brief fantasy of throttling him. ‘It’s your turn, Elder McKinley.’

The game proceeds. Elder McKinley wins a talent contest and insists on stopping to wow them all with a tap solo, which makes most of the pieces vibrate off their places. Elder Cunningham names his two peg-children Luke and Leia. Price’s eyes are starting to ache from all the rolling. It’s entirely arbitrary whether or not he lands on the squares that require him to give up money, so he won’t even have the satisfaction of knowing he won by being better than everyone else, unless Heavenly Father is intervening personally. Which He doesn’t seem to be, given than he’s landed on three money-giving-up squares in a row. They all have feeble excuses for this robbery attached to them- _Sponsor Golf Tournament! Furnish Baby Room!_ \- that do nothing to abate his loss.

McKinley lets out a squeak that jolts Kevin out of his sulk. He looks up, expecting Cunningham to have gotten bored and stuck one of the spare pieces up his nose again, and instead sees McKinley clasping his hands as he stares down at the board. ‘I’m a _daddy!_ ’

Kevin glances down at the board to see the top hat sitting on the _Baby Boy!_ square. McKinley is smiling ear-to-ear, and- are those _tears_ in his eyes? Kevin shifts, ignoring the way his stomach flutters when McKinley smiles. ‘…Congratulations?’

McKinley picks a blue peg out of the box and cradles it in his hand. ‘What should I name him?’

'It’s a _peg_ ', Kevin is about to say, but he can’t bring himself to jeopardise the ridiculous grin on McKinley’s face.

‘Jabba’, Cunningham suggests. 

‘I’m not calling my firstborn son _Jabba._ ’ McKinley takes the peg between finger and thumb and places it reverently in his upside-down top hat.

‘Pop Tart’, Elder Thomas proposes, and Kevin wonders uncharitably if he knows any other words. McKinley isn’t listening. ‘I’ll call him…’

He meets Kevin’s eyes and smiles. Kevin’s heart decidedly does not flutter in his chest. ‘Kevin.’

           

*****

 

McKinley wins. Kevin is painfully aware of the diminutive size of his money pile, but pride compels him to put his racecar in Millionaire Estates at the end, determinedly ignoring Elder Thomas’s pitying look. He’s about to dismiss the game as stupid and find an excuse to storm off without actually appearing to storm off, but McKinley’s glee as Elder Thomas hands over his prize- the last cherry pop-tart- forces him to stay and help put the pieces away like the nineteen-year-old adult he is. The others drift away and it’s just him and McKinley, shuffling the money into neat piles.

‘Congratulations’, he says again. McKinley pats his knee. ‘We can play Monopoly next time, I promise.’

‘I don’t care’, he mutters, putting the career cards back in their place with more aggression than is probably necessary.

‘Of course not.’ McKinley hesitates for a moment. He holds out the pop-tart. His ears look a little pink. ‘Do you, um…want to share this?’

‘I don’t need a consolation prize.’

This time, it’s McKinley’s turn to roll his eyes. ‘C’mon.’ He waggles the pop-tart tantalisingly in front of his face. ‘You know you want it.’

Kevin doesn’t remember pop-tarts back home tasting this good.

 

 

*****

 

They gather in the common room, all wide-eyed with shock, and for a long time they just stand around in silence.

Elder McKinley is the first to speak. His voice is about an octave higher than usual. ‘Did we just…leave the Church?’

‘We’re _expanding_ on the Church’s teachings’, Kevin attempts weakly. His palms are sweaty. Another long pause ensues.

‘ _Fuck_ ’, Elder McKinley says, with feeling. Kevin’s head snaps up and he laughs, breathless and high-pitched. He looks at Elder McKinley, and thinks, _So this is what attraction feels like._

‘Fuck’, he agrees.

           

*****

 

He’s not sure how long he’s been sitting on his bed, staring at his hands, but it feels like a long time. He’s done a good thing, he thinks. He’s not sure. He’s not used to not being sure. Kevin feels suddenly very, very young.

He’s so wrapped up in his thoughts he doesn’t notice the door opening. Then there’s someone sitting on the bed beside him. Elder McKinley looks about as shell-shocked as Kevin feels. He’s holding out a pop-tart.

‘Oh my gosh.’ Kevin falls on it, seizing it out of McKinley’s hands and tearing into it before he remembers to break it in half. He hands the non-chewed half back to McKinley. ‘Where did you _get_ this? I _love_ you.’

The silence stretches around them. Kevin contemplates stuffing the rest of his half into his mouth and feigning (or actually inducing) a coughing fit.

‘Um’, McKinley says. ‘Were you talking to me, or the pop-tart?’

Kevin’s palms are sweating again. He can’t make himself say anything.

McKinley starts again. ‘You know, starting a cult to get into someone’s pants is a little bit excessive.’ He stutters a tiny bit on the word ‘pants’.

‘I did _not_ start a cult’, he says indignantly, then notices McKinley is laughing, nervous and breathless. He shoves him on the arm. ‘You’re a jerk.’

McKinley shoves back. ‘Says the world’s sorest loser.’

For a second, he doesn’t know what he’s talking about. Then he remembers the Game of Life. It feels like a lifetime ago, like it happened to an entirely different person.

‘So’, McKinley says, still sounding a little breathless. ‘About those feelings.’

Kevin stares at him blankly. McKinley waves his hands. ‘You know, the…’ He meets Kevin’s eyes, then looks away. ‘Was I, um. Was I wrong?’

‘Oh.’ He swallows and clears his throat. ‘Elder McKinley…I have a confession to make. I’ve been having gay thoughts.’

McKinley collapses against him, his forehead pressed against Kevin’s shoulder. ‘Oh, thank _goodness_.’ Kevin’s heart is hammering in his chest. He can feel every single point where Elder McKinley is touching him. _We can do this now_ , he tells himself, but that’s not the same thing as actually doing it.

After a moment, McKinley raises his head. Their faces are very close. ‘I…’ he starts. Then he pulls back. Kevin barely stops himself from leaning forward, trying to keep them close together. ‘I’m sorry!’ McKinley squeaks. ‘I’m sorry. But I absolutely cannot kiss someone who doesn’t know my first name. _Do_ you know my first name?’

‘Of course I know your first name’, Kevin says, exasperated, and Connor kisses him.

There’s a moment of confusion where their noses collide and he can feel Connor’s breath against his mouth and he has absolutely no idea what to do with his hands. When Connor’s lips touch his he almost pulls back, just because it feels intrinsically weird to have someone else’s lips touching him. But then Connor sighs and makes a sound that might be a muffled laugh and Kevin relaxes. Connor’s lips are soft and wetter than he anticipated and they taste of pop-tarts. He still doesn’t know what to do with his hands, so he keeps them sort of bunched above his lap until Connor makes another little noise and grabs one of them and puts it on his waist, pulling Kevin in closer to him in the process.

Eventually they break apart. Connor is practically in Kevin’s lap; their legs are pressed together, and his foot keeps brushing Kevin’s ankle. He’s not sure if he’s doing it on purpose or not, but it makes him feel strangely shivery.

‘Still think I should crush that box?’

Connor yanks him in by his tie and kisses him again. Somehow, his hand ends up on Kevin’s thigh. ‘Don’t you dare.’

 

**Author's Note:**

> you know you've spent too long in the les mis fandom when you can get 2k words into writing a fic without realising your main character is still referring to the boy he's crushing on by his last name  
> don't ask me where the first bit of this takes place okay it's in a magical pocket dimension between i am here for you and all-american prophet.


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